I'd Come For You
by Story Teller 9212
Summary: Chris has been murdered in cold blood. The weapon used was Izzy's personal knife, but she claims to be framed. It's up to Owen to prove his true love is innocent. I don't own Total Drama or the Nickelback song that inspired the story. Rated T for darkness, mild forms of blood/violence, and two accounts of character death. TDAS never existed. Includes briefly mentioned Coderra.


**Well, here's my second **_**Total Drama**_** story that's inspired by a song, without the use of any part of the lyrics. I thought of the story to center around Owen and Izzy for certain reasons. Remember in "Hook, Line, and Screamer" when Owen pushed Izzy in front of the Psycho-Killer-disguised Chef Hatchet out of cowardice? Or what about "Alien Resurr-eggtion" where he left her to fend for herself when he needed the bathroom? And I'm sure all of you remember the breakup in "Jamaica Me Sweat," right? Well, what if Owen had a chance to redeem his past mistakes and had the chance to get back together with Izzy, promising her that he'll stay by her side no matter what? Other than the fact that Nickelback is a Canadian band, I thought that the song sounded appropriate for the story. For those of you who read my Tyler/Bridgette one-shot "When Will I Be Loved?" just as a reminder, that story has **_**no**_** connection. Well anyway, I hope you enjoy the story. Also, for some of the campers mentioned, I used the last names I've given them from my up-coming story **_**Total Drama Lost World**_**, other than the ones who were given surnames already (just as a heads-up). The story will be a little darker than what I might usually write in the future, so please forgive me on that. Also, the fifth season **_**Total Drama All-Stars**_** never existed here. And another reminder: I have never written a story that centers around crime and law before, especially Canadian law, so forgive me for (highly) possible inaccuracies, along with the characters of the story being OOC.**

* * *

"_By now you know that I'd come for you. No one but you. Yes, I'd come for you; but only if you told me to. I'd fight for you. I'd lie, it's true—give my life for you. You know I'd always come for you."  
_—Nickelback

* * *

After two long grueling years of cleaning Camp Wawanakwa of the toxic waste, Chris McLean wearily signed the last few papers stating that he had finished working for the government.

"Okay," said the agent who busted the host after the end of _Revenge of the Island_, "looks like everything is in order, McLean. The boys and I have checked the island ourselves."

"So," started a tired Chris, "does that mean I can finally use the island for another season?"

". . . Yes."

Jumping out of his chair with unspeakable excitement and newfound energy, Chris cheered happily at the sound of that. "Man, I can't wait to get another season going! Am I allowed to go home now so I could think it over?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever—just get outta here."

"YES! FREEDOM!"

As the agent watched Chris run out happily, he shook his head and muttered to himself, "Jerk."

After taking a plane ride back to his luxurious mansion, Chris entered his house and noticed that the lights were off. "Huh, I guess Heather is over-sleeping. Or at least not back yet. Oh well, it's like a wise person once said: Be ever so humble, there's no place like home." What the host didn't mention on the fourth season of _Total Drama_, was that Heather Tsukasa, one of the veteran contestants, was hired as Chris' maid. Yeah, so it meant housework, but when it came to money, the queen bee couldn't refuse—it was a better alternative than competing (and risk losing her hair) in another season of _Total Drama_ and having to watch the million bucks either get eaten by a Shark, fall into a volcano, or anything in relation to the former.

"And just to show appreciation to the motto," continued Chris as he dropped his luggage, "I think I'll take a little R&R in my Jacuzzi."

Since it was nighttime and the only source of light was the full moon, Chris saw a flash from the corner of his eye, making him fazed as he turned to the source.

"Hello?" called out the host into the darkness. "Anybody here?"

* * *

It was a week after the newspapers announced that Chris went back home after the events from the fourth season of _Total Drama_. Owen Stauffenberg was sitting by himself alone, watching his fellow peers dance the night away to Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" as he let out a depressed sigh. Usually, he was the life of the party, but lately he just wasn't into partying. The reason? He still felt guilty about Izzy Mackintosh breaking up with him back in _World Tour_, even though he technically didn't cause the plane crash or to have the said crazy girl get amnesia, but still. All the party guy wanted to do was go up to her and apologize. If it meant going on a hunger strike to gain her forgiveness, then so be it. What he was really afraid of was that he might choke on his words and look like the biggest fool on Earth, let alone Canada.

Just coming at him was somebody spinning wildly like a top and, without looking, Owen held out his arm and stopped the person in their tracks. As he did so, the random dancer turned out to be one of his many friends, Cody Anderson. Holding his head from the dizziness, Cody turned his attention to the party guy.

"Man," said Cody, "when Sierra spins her partner, namely me, she goes all out."

"Are you having a good time?" asked the party guy in a depressed tone, still not looking up at his little friend.

"Oh, you bet I am. Say Owen, why aren't you up there with the rest of us? What's eating you?"

"Just don't feel up to snuff, I guess."

"Cody?" called a certain fan girl, her purple-dyed hair finally growing back after getting burnt from the Jumbo Jet blowing up back in _World Tour_. "There you are, Cody-kinz! I've been looking all over for you."

"Pardon me, Sierra," apologized the suburbanite, "but I was just asking Owen why he's not on the dance floor with the rest of us."

"Seriously?" asked Sierra with complete astonishment as she now looked at the party guy. "But you're always the life of the party."

"That was the Owen back in the good old days," said the party guy, "but now I have nothing to be happy for. Partying and food mean nothing to me now."

Tapping her chin with thought, Sierra remembered what had taken the party out of the party guy. "Owen, you're sad about Izzy not being in your life anymore, aren't you?"

"What else?"

"I understand. You know, Izzy has been back to her old self since the third season."

"What's your point, guys?"

"Personally," chimed in Cody, "you should just go and talk to her. Owen, we know you better than you think—you're the optimist, the party animal, and a friend amongst _everybody_. Well, almost. Just tell Izzy that you're sorry and you want to get back together with her. Seriously, what've you got to lose? She's probably heard the song you wrote to her."

Looking up with a bit of newfound hope, Owen stared at the couple. "Do you guys really think I have a chance?"

Cody and Sierra nodded before the party guy sat up from his seat.

"All right, I'll do it. . . . But there's just one problem."

"What's that?" queried the fan girl.

"I don't know where Izzy could be."

Sierra shook her head with a tut-tut. "Owen, it's Izzy we're talking about. She could be _anywhere_, and I have no doubt she could be here. Haven't you forgotten that you're not the only party animal of us campers?"

Face-palming, the party guy chuckled to himself. "You're right—how could I be so stupid? And if she's not here, then I'll search all of Canada if I have to. Cody, Sierra, I'm going to make a promise to Izzy that I will be at her side _no matter what_. I'm not going to leave her high and dry any longer—mark my words."

"That's the old spirit we know," said Cody happily, "but you won't have to search hard, 'cause I saw her come in with Eva and Noah."

Owen cocked an eyebrow at that. "You did? Why didn't you tell me?"

The suburbanite merely shrugged. "You didn't ask."

"Come on, Cody!"

With that, the party guy entered the dance floor to search for his love. Cody and Sierra just looked at each other with knowing smiles and knuckle-pounded.

Squeezing by the dancing teens, Owen looked all over for any sign of Izzy—her long orange hair, her casual green outfit, anything—just before, amongst the moving teens, he spotted Eva a few yards away leaning against a wall, and thought to himself that she should know where the crazy girl was. Despite her cold attitude towards most of the other campers, the party guy never saw anything wrong with Eva Romano; sure she can be rough around the edges, and granted they never really talked much, but he still considered her his friend, whether the female bully was aware of it or not.

Exhausted from bobbing and weaving between the dancers, the party guy leaned against the wall next to Eva and managed a smile while panting. "Hey, Eva, how's it going?"

The female bully, on the other hand, just stared on at the other dancers with her usual scowl. "Nothing much."

"You know, I was just talking to Cody and Sierra from the other side of the room."

"So?"

"So, they told me—for no reason at all—that Izzy came with you and Noah."

Cocking an eyebrow, Eva turned to face the party guy. "What are you trying to get at, Owen?"

His smile now disappearing, the party guy sighed. "I might as well cut to the chase. I'm trying to get back together with Izzy, and I was wondering if you know where she is."

After a moment of staring at him, Eva simply shrugged her shoulders. "Fine by me. I saw her over at the punch bowl a minute ago, so you better hurry if you want to patch things up with her."

Owen's smile returned. "Thanks Eva, I owe you one."

"Oh, one more thing."

Just as the party guy was about to take off for the punch bowl, he turned around to hear what the female bully had to say. "Yes?"

"Let me say, first of all, that I know you feel guilty about the events that led up to your break-up. Before you say anything else, Owen, I want you to know that Izzy feels guilty breaking up with you also, got it?"

"So . . . does that mean she wants to get back together with me?"

". . . Ask her yourself if she wants to get back together with you—but don't tell her I said anything."

"Don't worry, Eva, your secret's safe with me."

With that, Owen headed for the snack and beverage table. As he got there, he didn't see any trace of Izzy. His eyes darted around with desperation as he tried to see the crazy girl. Little did the party guy realize, however, was that the girl he was looking for was heading straight for him. Since neither of them were paying any attention, they were given quite a rude awakening as they crashed into one and the other.

"Oh crud!" gasped Owen, looking down to see the girl of his dreams before reaching out his hand. "I'm so sorry Izzy, I didn't see you coming."

"What's to be sorry about?" asked Izzy dismissively. "I wasn't paying attention either, Owen. Come to think of it, I was looking for you."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, well, coincidentally, I was looking for you as well."

"Boy that's a coincidence and a half!"

"Totally!"

Laughing nervously for a moment, the two teenagers stopped and looked at each other for a moment.

"Owen?" asked the crazy girl.

"Izzy?" inquired the party guy.

"I have something to tell you that's super important."

"Really? I have something important to tell you also."

"Okay, you go first."

"Oh no, ladies first."

"Relax, I insist."

"Let's just think for a second. How about we say it together?"

"Okey-dokey."

Only a few seconds passed by before the two teens said in unison, "I'm sorry."

". . . Sorry for what?" asked Izzy with a shrug.

All nervous, Owen scratched the back of his neck. "Err, well, about what happened two years ago back in _World Tour_. In Jamaica? When we broke up?"

"Oh. Strange, I was apologizing for the same thing."

"But that wasn't your fault. It was the kind of karma I deserved for giving up a good thing in my life. . . . Wait, did that sound right?"

"Who cares?" asked Noah in a bored tone as he just stepped into the picture. "What matters now is that the two of you have said you're sorry, now get back to being a couple again, kiss and make up, and that sort of thing, all right? . . . Now, if anyone should need me, I'm going to sit out the next song—so don't need me."

As Noah walked away from his two friends, he leaned against the wall right next to Eva.

"Everything according to plan?" inquired the female bully, not moving her eyes to her friend.

With his usual bored look, Noah Dasari nodded. "It should in three . . . two . . . one."

"Err, Izzy?" asked Owen. "I was wondering, well since we apologized for what happened back in Jamaica, if maybe you would like to be my girlfriend again."

"You know Owen," said Izzy, rubbing her arm, "I wanted to ask if you would like to be my boyfriend again and, well, since you want to be back together with me . . . I would."

With wide hopeful eyes and a big smile on his face, the party guy asked, "You mean it? Honest and for true?"

The crazy girl grabbed hold of his hand as she smiled sweetly. "Every word."

With tears of joy, the party guy wrapped the crazy girl in his arms and hugged her tightly. "That is just what I wanted to hear! I was just plain miserable without you in my life, Iz. I wanted to ask you if you wanted us back together, but I was just so nervous."

"I know _exactly_ how you feel, Big O! I thought you would still have a grudge against me."

"Not at all. I dunno 'bout you, but I feel in the mood to dance."

"Me too!"

Holding hands, the reunited couple started to dance hard to Lady Gaga's (censored version of) "Just Dance."

Meanwhile, Noah and Eva were sneaking over to the disk jockey Devon Jordan McCrae, or DJ as the campers (and pretty much everyone else) called him **(A/N: No lame puns intended)**. As the high IQ got DJ's attention, he whispered into the Jamaican-Canadian's ear, while motioning his head over to Owen and Izzy. As the brick house lifted his shades to get a better look at the oddball couple, he then turned his attention to Noah and gave him the thumbs-up.

As the song finished, DJ stood up with his microphone. "Yo everyone! I just got myself a special request. Our next song is gonna be a slow one."

"Oh Cody!" said Sierra happily. "It's going to be a slow dance."

"Please Sierra," stated a tired Cody, "how about we just—" He never had a chance to finish as his girlfriend happily dragged him to the dance floor.

After he quietly spoke to Noah about the song, DJ redirected his attention on the dancers. "Hope everyone's in the mood for Savage Garden tonight. Owen and Izzy, if you two are listening, the song's dedicated to you." And so the song "Crash And Burn" started playing. Owen placed his hands on Izzy's hips, while the crazy girl wrapped her arms around the back of the party guy's neck.

"Izzy?" asked the party guy.

"Owen?" queried back the crazy girl.

"I think it's time that I set things right with our relationship."

"I don't understand."

"Throughout the first three seasons I have done nothing but treat you badly."

"No you haven't."

"I've meant by abandoning you and that sort of thing. I promise that I'll stay by your side no matter what—whether we face the Psycho Killer, or I have to hold onto my bladder."

The crazy girl giggled at the last part. "Well, I'm flattered by that."

"Nevertheless, starting now, I will be a new man. If it means I'll have to take a bullet for you, then so be it."

". . . I don't know what to say."

Elsewhere, Eva and Noah watched their two friends slow-dancing, silently hoping that all would go according to plan. It wasn't long before Cody and Sierra came up to them.

"Is it working?" asked the fan girl.

"From what I hear," stated Noah, "I believe it is."

"It better work—" gruffly stated Eva—"it took us two long years to get them together."

"I know, right?" stated the suburbanite, his arms folded across his chest and an eyebrow cocked. "I can't believe it myself. Well, I can't say I really blame them, since they were nervous and everything else. Not to mention we actually stayed out of the background and observed them for the most part."

"Well, that," added the high IQ, "and trying to get them back into the social life—sort of speaking."

"Ooh, ooh, look!" whispered Sierra happily, pointing at the couple. "They stopped dancing!"

The female bully cocked an eyebrow. "So what are you happy about?"

"That means they'll share a kiss—I'm sure of it! See how they're staring into their eyes so deeply?"

Squinting against the colored lights and putting a hand over his brow, Cody observed them. "Hey, they _are_. Looks like we got Owen and Izzy back together. And now it should be _official_."

Just as the song was ending, the oddball couple got in close, and just as they closed their eyes and their lips were about to touch . . .

The doors to the dance club were busted open and a swarm of Mounties entered the building, leaving all the dancing teenagers in a state of shock.

"RCMP!" shouted one of the Mounties. "Nobody move!"

How could the teens even _dare_ move when they're looking at the authorities carrying loaded handguns? At the entryway, two Mounties parted and soon followed a man in a black trench coat and fedora, who was walking towards Owen and Izzy; the odd couple were holding each other out of fear as they stared wide-eyed at the dark figure that seemed to float over to their direction like a phantom.

The black-clad man held up his badge, revealing himself to be a detective. "Izzy Mackintosh?" His icy voice was chillingly identical to Gary Sinise's when he starred in _Ransom_.

While the party guy still stared at the detective fearfully, the intimidated crazy girl nodded her head slowly.

"You'll have to come with us."

Almost ripping her out of Owen's arms, the two Mounties spun Izzy around and slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists, her arms behind her back.

"Let's move, boys."

After staring at the group of cops dragging his girlfriend away for a moment, the party guy chased after them. "Hey! Wait!"

The detective stopped for him. "What do you want, kid?"

Ignoring the fact that he was eighteen and just been called a kid, Owen stopped in front of the dark figure. "Please, you don't understand—that's my girlfriend!"

"So what? She committed a rather heinous crime last week. Fortunately we captured her before things went out of hand."

"W-w-what crime?"

"Murder."

"Murder!?"

"Yes. Specifically, she murdered Chris McLean in cold blood—had his neck slit open with her own knife and was discovered in his domicile a week after he left Wawanakwa Island. Personally, I don't give a flying stink about him, but it's my job to protect the public."

The party guy watched as the detective followed the rest of the Mounties and drove off in their cars, one of them containing his girlfriend. "It can't be—there must be some mistake. Wait! Don't go!"

Running as fast as his weight would allow him, with tears in his eyes, Owen followed the line of police cars for a few yards. He fell to his knees, and soon on his hands as he weakly and desperately called the Mounties to come back. He kept begging the faraway vehicles as Noah, Cody, Sierra, and Eva tried to help him up.

* * *

At the prison, Owen went up and sat down to speak to his girlfriend, where he saw Izzy wearing an orange jumpsuit and, probably for the first time in her life, her eyes were welled up with tears.

The crazy girl picked up her phone, and after motioning the party guy to talk to her through the phone, she spoke in a tight voice mixed with sorrow and disbelief. "You know, they say I'm so crazy that they're looking at me through a camera."

"Iz," started Owen, using her nickname, "I'm going to get you out of here somehow. I don't believe you killed Chris—somebody framed you, I'm sure of it."

"Big O, you don't know much about law, do you?" queried Izzy.

"No, but I convinced Noah to help us out—since he's a smart guy—along with Eva. I made a promise to you that I'll help you no matter what. Give me the chance to show you that I have changed. Tell me if you want me to help you."

". . . I do."

"All right kid," announced a police officer, "your time's up."

The party guy shook his head frantically. "I'm not done yet."

". . . _Do you want me to call security_?"

Fazed easily by that, Owen hung up the phone and left while a couple prison guards chained up Izzy and dragged her away. Awaiting the party guy was Noah.

"Well, Owen?" asked the high IQ. "What did you tell Izzy?"

The party guy gave a sad shrug of his broad shoulders. "Not much, other than the fact that we'll help her get out and clear her name. I made a promise to her and I plan to keep it."

"I see. Well, that means we'll have to find a lawyer that'll help her out. Don't worry, I know just who to ask."

"Really? Who are you gonna ask?"

"I plan on asking Benjamin Chamberlain, Trent's father."

"No kidding? You know, I always wondered if Trent's dad really is a lawyer when he announced that back on the Island; but confidentially, I never had the chance to ask him."

"Yes, well now you don't have to. The trial date isn't until next week, so we'll need to act fast, find Trent, and see if he can get his dad to help us."

"I'm sure he would . . . won't he?"

"I have full doubt, but I think Trent can convince his father to help us for little to no money. However, like I said, I doubt it."

"Maybe if Trent told his dad that we're friends of his, then he would. And I think I have an idea as to where Trent is tonight."

* * *

After searching through a couple music stores, the two friends found the cool guy in a music store called "The Silver Note."

After hearing the story from the two friends, Trent nodded in full understanding. "I see. No problem, Owen, I think I can convince my dad to help you out. Pardon me for a second." Whipping out his cell phone, Trent dialed his father's number and waited for a short while before speaking. "Hello, Dad? I'm doing all right—just over at a music store with a couple friends of mine. From the show, _Total Drama_. Dad, I was wondering if you could do a favor for a friend of mine. Do you remember hearing on the news of Chris McLean found dead in his home? Yeah, that's the one. Well you see, my friend's girlfriend has been accused of killing Chris and . . . well, considering he isn't able to pay you, I was wondering if maybe . . . You would? Great! Oh, hold on one second.

"Hey, Owen?" asked the cool guy. "When is Izzy's case again?"

"Err," stammered the party guy, "it's a week from now."

Trent directed his attention to his father on the other end of the phone. "It's a week from now. So, are you able to do it? Well that's good to hear—I'll let him know. All right, I'll see you later. Bye." The cool guy hung up and directed his attention to his friends. "Everything is set."

* * *

One week later, Izzy's trial was held. On her right side was Owen, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt with extreme anxiety, and Noah. On her left was her lawyer, Trent's father. **(A/N: Forgive me if I should describe Trent's dad incorrectly.)** The man looked very much like his son, aside from the Crow's feet and neatly trimmed moustache. Behind Izzy in the audience were Owen's parents and brothers, along with Eva.

Up front, with his massive arms crossed, was Chef Hatchet taking place as the bailiff. In the witness stand was Heather, looking all sad, distraught, and confused. The Crown Attorney, a pale thin man with graying hair and wearing black-framed glasses similar to Bob Gunton's when he played in _The Shawshank Redemption_ and an arrogant, snooty-looking scowl, straightened out his papers for the testimony.

Owen leaned over to Izzy, both of them staring at the cook in an odd way, before whispering, "Since when did Chef become interested in law?"

"I know, right?" shrugged the crazy girl.

"Quiet guys—" whispered Benjamin Chamberlain—"the judge should be here any minute."

"ALL RISE!" shouted Chef Hatchet. Everyone from the audience, to the defendant and her colleagues, to Heather, to the CA, to the jury (who were the entire cast from _Revenge of the Island_—with only Scott absent) stood up rigid—most of them given a jolt to the system from the sudden response. "Court is now in session! The honorable Judge Brook Hawthorn presiding!"

The judge, an elderly man with a thin build, white hair, bushy eyebrows, and a thick white moustache entered the room and set himself down at the podium.

Chef Hatchet turned to the judge and handed him a piece of paper. "Case number 61636 **(A/N: Do the numbers give you any hints?)**—_Province of Ontario v. Isabella Mackintosh_."

"Thank you Hatchet," said the judge in a deep grumbling voice, "please continue."

The militant cook faced everyone else in the room and shouted, "Okay, parties have been sworn in—NOW SIT DOWN!"

Everyone sat down fearfully, while the CA was all calm and collective.

"Mr. Lucifer Bitters," said the judge as he faced the CA, "your opening statement please."

Bitters the CA stood up and cleared his throat before speaking, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it's obvious what we have here is a murder case on our hands. Granted, the victim Chris McLean was hated by everyone, if not by the contestants of _Total Drama_ alone, yet the law does _not_ recognize a murder victim through such details. And the accused, Ms. Isabella Mackintosh, or 'Izzy' as she is called, has proven time and time again she is mentally unstable; her act of killing has proven she is a menace to society. The clues are obvious she has murdered Mr. McLean in cold blood for she used her personal knife—which by the way was left at the scene of the crime. A week later the victim was discovered by Ms. Heather Tsukasa, McLean's hired maid and former contestant of _Total Drama_. Now some of you might think she could be responsible for it, on the count of the acts she had committed while competing in McLean's game show, not to mention her strong dislike of the latter. However, no one seems to have any proof of such a claim, do they? All I ask you is who are you willing to believe: a queen bee who was hired as a maid or a mentally unstable would-be killer?"

A moment of silence passed by after Bitters finished his statement. In the defense table, the party guy clenched his fists tightly with anger, anticipating on actually punching the CA for verbally attacking his girlfriend.

"I see," nodded Judge Hawthorn, "thank you Mr. Bitters. Your first witness, please."

The CA nodded back before walking over to Heather. "Ms. Heather Tsukasa, could you please tell us how long you have known the victim?"

Wiping away a tear, the queen bee spoke in a tight voice, "I have known Chris for two years."

"Two years?"

"I was a contestant in the first three seasons of _Total Drama_, and I was given a guest spot for the fourth season."

"And tell me, Ms. Tsukasa, how long have you been Mr. McLean's maid?"

"Two years; he hired me during the fourth season."

"I see. Could you please tell us about the murder? The reports say you found McLean's body a week after he left Wawanakwa Island. Where were you during the time being?"

"I was visiting my family in Quebec."

"Was Mr. McLean aware of it?"

"Yes; I left him a message saying I would be gone for two weeks. I never thought he would be dead—I admit we had our differences, _but I never wished him to literally die_." Heather soon started to sob in her hands.

Back in the defense table, Noah leaned over to Owen and Izzy, whispering with sarcasm, "Ever seen such a performance like _that_ in all your life?"

"Any more witnesses, Mr. Bitters?" asked the judge.

The CA looked up with a smirk on his face. "No more, your honor. Thank you."

"Mr. Benjamin Chamberlain, do you have any witnesses you like to call?"

Standing up, Trent's father straightened out his tie. "Yes, your honor. I would like to call my client's boyfriend, Mr. Stauffenberg, to the stand."

Hearing that, the party guy's heart pounded like a drum and perspiration froze on his brow. He felt a bit of pressure on his hand, and as he looked over, he noticed the crazy girl squeezing it with reassurance. He then looked behind him and looked at his parents as they silently motioned their son to go. Owen took a deep breath and sat up before noticing Trent's father motion his head over to Chef.

The party guy slowly walked to the former cook while taking a quick glance at Izzy.

As the party guy stopped in front of Chef, the latter held out a Bible. "Place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand. . . . You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Despite wanting to prove Izzy's innocence in any way possible—even through lying—Owen reluctantly nodded his head once. "Yes."

After the party guy set himself in the witness stand, Mr. Chamberlain focused his attention on the former. "State your name please."

"Ah gee," said Owen like it was nothing, "everybody knows who I am."

Elsewhere in the room, Heather silently snickered at the party guy's naïveté, while Noah in the defendant table slapped his forehead in embarrassment.

Mr. Chamberlain leaned over the party guy and whispered, "I'm sorry, but it's required that you state your name, nonetheless."

"Oh," whispered Owen, "sorry."

"Now then," said Trent's father, now upright and speaking in a normal tone after nodding with approval, "state your name please."

"Owen Stauffenberg."

"And tell me, Owen, how long have you known the defendant?"

"You mean Izzy? I've known her for two years. We started off as great friends in the beginning of _Total Drama Island_, and we soon started dating."

"I see. Is it true, Mr. Stauffenberg, that you and the defendant were separated during the third season?"

". . . Yes."

"But from what my client has told me, the two of you recently got back together, correct?"

"Yes."

"Before that time and after you two broke up, did you keep in touch?"

"No, not really. I was still depressed after what happened during _World Tour_, and I was nervous that she'd be mad at me."

"I see. Tell me, Mr. Stauffenberg, do you recall Ms. Mackintosh saying that she wanted to murder Chris McLean?"

"No, not that I'm aware of."

"Do you think she would ever do such a thing?"

"Absolutely not. Izzy might be crazy, or mentally unstable—" the party guy then glared over at the CA—"as Mr. Bitters had put it, but she would _never_ commit murder. Bombs and fire are one thing, but killing someone is completely different. . . ."

* * *

A few hours have passed in the court room before the judge called it a day. **(A/N: Sorry, I'm not so great on law/court terminology.)** Holding hands, Owen and Izzy walked out of the courtroom as the former's parents approached them.

Mrs. Stauffenberg hugged the oddball couple before speaking to her son, "Oh, I'm so proud of you, Owen. You were doing well up there."

"No Mom," denied the party guy, "I think I made things worse. I'm sorry Izzy; I guess I shouldn't have added that statement."

"Well," shrugged the crazy girl, "if it's any consolation, you _were_ required to tell the truth."

Mr. Stauffenberg (the party guy's father) walked up and interjected, "That's right, son. And also, I don't think Izzy did it either."

"Thanks Dad—" said Owen, half-heartedly—"I just wish that was all it took."

"Well it doesn't, does it?" asked Noah as he and Eva walked up to the group. "We still need strong evidence to prove her innocence. From what the CA said a bit ago, the knife used in Chris' murder was a Cabela's black-handled three-inch blade."

"You own that, Izzy?" inquired Eva.

"Actually . . ." paused the crazy girl in remembering, "yes. But I was bungee-jumping during the time Chris was killed; when I came back, I _did_ notice my knife gone."

". . . Wait a minute," said Noah as he held up his hand, "out of curiosity, Izzy, who are your neighbors?"

"The Tsukasa family, why? . . . Ohhhh."

"Then that probably means . . ." said Owen in shock.

"Right—" Noah nodded—"Heather _must_ be behind it. I mean, why else would she fake those tears? Yet how we'll prove she murdered Chris is the question."

"I might be the positive thinker of our group, but I don't see any way we can get Heather to, well, spill her guts, you know? I mean, it's not like we can secretly use a tape recorder and trick her into confessing or anything."

"Hmm . . . Maybe you can, Owen."

"Huh?"

"You can use a hidden tape recorder and try to get Heather to tell you how she pulled off Chris' murder."

"How, Noah? How? It's not like I could just walk up to Heather and say, 'Hi Heather, how have you been? By the way, how did you frame Izzy in Chris' murder?' . . . Err, can I?"

"Well, obviously not, Owen. I just need to figure out something around that obstacle."

"Okay," said Chef, "talk's over. You're coming with me, crazy girl, and don't try anything funny." At that, the militant cook/bailiff took out a taser and threatened to pull the trigger.

"All right Chef, but could I have one more word with Big O?" asked the crazy girl.

". . . Just make it short and sweet."

Izzy turned to Owen and paused for only a moment to stare deep into his eyes. "Thank you Owen for being here for me."

The party guy stayed silent for a short moment. "I made a promise Izzy, and I intend to keep it. I will get you out of here somehow—I swear I will."

The oddball couple shared a fast kiss on the lips before Chef Hatchet broke them apart.

Owen watched Izzy get taken away once again before a tear rolled down his face.

"Sweetie?" started Mrs. Stauffenberg. "Do you need any comfort from us?"

The party guy shook his head. "No, Mom. I just need some time alone."

"All right son," shrugged Mr. Stauffenberg, "take all the time you need."

"Thanks, Dad."

The party guy's parents looked at each other sadly, while Noah and Eva did the same. After a moment, the four individuals left the party guy.

Leaning forward on a bench, his head in both hands, Owen sighed sorrowfully before a familiar figure haughtily walked up to him. "Hello, Owen."

Hearing that condescending statement, and recognizing that voice, the party guy turned his head up to the source and glared. "What do you want, Heather?"

"Oh, nothing—just thought we might talk is all, old friend."

"We are not friends, and pardon my French, but I'm not talking to you, you heartless, greedy, narcissistic witch."

"Oh, I'm so hurt by your words." The way Heather spoke that was in complete sarcasm. "All right, but it just might have something to do with your precious Izzy."

The party guy shot up straight and looked the queen bee in the eye. "What about Izzy? Tell me what you're talking about or I'll—"

"Ah-ah-ah—not here. We'll talk things over at my place, _cumprende_?"

"I trust you as far as I can throw the Sasquatchanakwa, but all right. Why your place, anyway?"

"This conversation is between you and me, Owen. Be there tonight if you want to see Izzy live."

". . . Fine."

Smirking with satisfaction, Heather strutted her way out, not noticing Noah against the corner of the wall he hid behind. Making sure the queen bee was out of earshot, the bookworm then walked over to his friend.

"Do you know what that means, Owen?"

"Hmm?" The party guy was distracted momentarily before noticing his little buddy. "Oh, no I don't know what it means, Noah."

"Think about it: Heather wants to talk to you over at her place, right?"

"Right."

"And the conversation will concern about Izzy, right?"

"Right."

"And we both think that Heather must have a role in Chris' death, right?"

"Right. What are you getting at?"

After taking a quick glance over his shoulder, Noah continued, "The tape recorder, my friend. If you secretly tape the conversation between you and Heather, you might get a confession out of her."

"I don't know . . ."

"Come on Owen, whatever happened to that optimism of yours? For all we know, Izzy could be falsely executed for Chris' murder. You made a promise to her that you'll help get her out of prison. You need to take a chance at that—it could turn the tide of the entire case tomorrow."

"You're right, little buddy—I must do it for my girlfriend. By the way, why are you sounding so positive all of a sudden?"

"Well Owen, that's because you and Izzy are my friends, aside from Eva and a few other people of course, so you kind of get the picture there. I might appear self-centered, but it doesn't mean I have no heart—remember that."

* * *

Later that night, the party guy arrived at Heather's house, one hand in one pocket (the one containing the tape recorder). After knocking on the door with his free hand, Owen was greeted by the queen bee.

Naturally, Heather was mad about something. "You're late."

_Big deal_, thought the party guy. "I couldn't find my shoes."

"So what? Just get in."

Owen did as he was commanded, and silently turned on the tape recorder as he stepped in.

"Your family's not home?" asked the party guy.

"What's it to you?" glared the queen bee.

"I was just asking."

". . . Well, they obviously aren't. My siblings are elsewhere now, and my parents are out on their date. This is why I want to speak to you tonight."

"But why at your house?"

"Duh! Because my parents are out, and I doubt _your_ family should have other plans in mind tonight. . . . Anyway, before I get on with the main topic, I want to know what _you_ thought of my performance in court. Was I convincing?"

"I _was_ convinced for a moment. It wasn't until Noah pointed out some obvious . . . things."

"Such as?"

"Such as _you_ not giving a darn about anyone—let alone Chris."

"Who does?"

". . . Well, you still hate everybody—even me, and I never did anything bad to you in the beginning."

"Blah, blah, blah—save your blubbering. . . . So tell me, from your own point of view, do you still believe your crazy little girlfriend didn't kill Chris?"

"Of course."

"Then who do you think would have done it?"

". . . You."

Heather raised an eyebrow as she smirked. "Care to elaborate?"

"You're Izzy's neighbor."

"So?"

"So how else could her knife be at Chris' place if she was bungee-jumping at that time?"

"Figured it out all by yourself?"

"Err . . . no, actually. Noah and Izzy pointed that out to me."

"It figures, Owen. You hardly, if at all, use your own brain."

The party guy glared at the queen bee, his jaws clenched as he growled, "Go jump in a lake."

"'Go jump in a lake'?" echoed Heather, sarcastically. "Oh, my ears are burning. Well, then it means little miss crazy will be taken to the electric chair, you know?"

Owen cooled down a bit, but was intimidated by the mention of Izzy going to the electric chair. "W-w-w-what are you talking about?"

"Well then, let me elaborate for you. Everyone knows your girlfriend is a few fries shy of a complete Happy Meal, so they will _never_ believe in her denying of Chris' murder, which is why I used the knife to kill the idiot Chris and planted it right at the scene of the crime. Oh, I almost forgot one more detail: I used gloves during the murder, and since little miss crazy's fingerprints were all over the knife handle, the courts pinned it on her. Pretty clever, huh?"

"I don't understand. Granted, Chris was a pretty big pill, but why kill him?"

"For the money, of course."

"Say what?"

"The only reason I became Chris' maid was so I could get my hands on some cash; and during the time I took the job, I convinced Chris to lend me his entire fortune in his will if anything should happen to him."

"But he has family—Cousin Jerd, you know?"

"Please, every McLean relative disconnected from Chris; when I pointed it out to him, the moron was so worried about his fortune and his precious little reality show falling into the wrong hands. 'Course, I begged and pleaded tirelessly 'til he couldn't stand it any longer, not to mention I would take good care of the inheritance.

"You see, my gullible slob, Alejandro isn't the only charmer amongst us, remember."

"But how does it all concern Izzy?" asked Owen.

Heather rolled her eyes in annoyance as she irritably stated, "I was just about to tell you. You see, when a mentally unstable person commits a murder, they could be given a lighter sentence when they plead insanity. If your girlfriend keeps denying it, Owen, it will be curtains for her. So, I want you to tell her to plead insanity so she can avoid execution—it will be a win-win situation: I get to live the life of fortune and fame, and your girlfriend will stay alive."

"Yet she will be feared by everybody, see her as a killer like that one guy . . . err, what was his name again? I think it had something to do with hairy-carry."

"First off, people already fear your girlfriend because of her psychotic antics. Second off, you mean 'Helter Skelter,' and the guy was Charles Manson, who by the way could talk a person into committing murder."

". . . Well, that's what _you_ are, Heather—a nasty, cold-hearted monster."

"Whatever. Try to get it through your thick skull Owen—tell Izzy to plead insanity, or else."

"Or else what?" gulped the party guy.

"Or else I will kill her myself. Like they say, dead men tell no tales. . . . But anyway, do we have a deal?"

Owen thought about it, his face looking sad. He then realized that with the tape recorder, he could still save Izzy in more ways than one. Looking at the queen bee with a steely glare, the party guy simply stated, ". . . No."

"What?" asked Heather.

"No. I'm not going to tell Izzy to plead insanity. I made a promise that I would clear her name and be with her during her time of need. And I _will_ make sure that you won't get away with it, even if it kills me. And besides, even if I did make that deal with you, how could you live with yourself? What would your family think? Or did that ever cross your mind?"

The queen bee just stared at him with a glower on her face. ". . . Get out of my house."

Turning around, the party guy slowly walked away from Heather, but as he opened the door, he glanced at the queen bee and interpolated, "Just thought it might occur to you." And with that, he closed the door and walked away from Heather's house as he headed back to his. Turning off the tape recorder in his pocket, he then pulled out his cell phone and selected Noah's number. ". . . Hello, Noah? I think I got it."

* * *

Owen wasn't able to sleep a wink that night, for he dreamt about the case in court not ruling in favor of Izzy being innocent despite the party guy's efforts—and because of that dream, he was still asleep the next morning before his parents came into his room.

"Owen," said Mrs. Stauffenberg, "it's time to get up, sweetie."

"Huh, wha . . .?" muttered the tired party guy, barely lifting up his head. "Is it morning already?"

"Yes," nodded Mr. Stauffenberg, "it's been morning a couple hours ago. The judge will be giving the final verdict in Izzy's trial."

"_WHAT_!?" exclaimed a wide-eyed Owen, sitting straight up in his bed. "The verdict's today!?"

"We thought you knew, champ."

"I didn't know!" It was then that the party guy remembered something important as he scanned his room jumping out of his bed. "My pants! Where are my pants!?"

"In the wash, why?" asked Mrs. Stauffenberg confusedly.

"_Oh shoot_!" Owen grabbed his shirt and put it on as he ran into the laundry room, his confused parents right behind him. The party guy reached into the dirty laundry basket and flung every piece of dirty laundry.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" worriedly asked Mrs. Stauffenberg.

"I gotta find my pants, Mom!" answered the party guy in complete panic.

"But why, son?" asked a confused Mr. Stauffenberg. "Aren't you going to wear your suit?"

"I don't have time, Dad—" explained Owen—"I left a tape recorder in my pants that'll save Izzy."

"How?" asked the party guy's parents in confused unison.

"Noah and I thought Heather killed Chris, so I hid a tape recorder and talked to her. . . . Well, she wanted to talk to me alone last night and she told me how and why she framed Izzy. . . . I found them!" Owen found the shorts he wore last night and was relieved to find that the tape recorder was still there and intact. As he started to change his pants, Owen directed his attention back to his parents. "Mom, Dad, could you—"

"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Stauffenberg, getting the message, "we'll start the car."

"Don't worry, dear," said Mr. Stauffenberg, "I'll start the car—you get Johnny and Gavin up."

After several minutes, Owen and his family drove off to the courthouse.

* * *

In the courtroom, while Bitters continued talking to the judge, Izzy and Mr. Chamberlain looked worried about Owen not being with them yet. However, despite the fact that his face was cool, calm, and collected, Noah was actually the most nervous of all as he tapped his fingers on the desk. Without Owen and the tape recorder, his friend Izzy was doomed while Heather walked away scot-free.

"Your honor," spoke the Crown Attorney, concluding his argument, "I rest my case."

The elderly judge turned his gaze over to the defense table, and noticed that Owen was still not present. "Mr. Chamberlain, is your client's boyfriend, Mr. Stauffenberg, unable to come today?"

Mr. Chamberlain stood up, feeling like he was fighting a losing case, but he had to buy some time, for Noah told him about the tape recorder before the case started. "No, your honor, my client's boyfriend will be here shortly. You see, my client Ms. Mackintosh told me that Mr. Stauffenberg tends to be—"

"Please, your honor," interrupted the CA, "isn't it obvious the defendant has nothing to prove her innocence? The claim of her knife being stolen by the witness and being framed for McLean's murder would simply be mere empty words. We have seen the evidence countless times—Ms. Mackintosh's knife, a Cabela's black-handled three-inch blade, has three distinct features: the victim's blood, the defendant's carved name, and most importantly the defendant's finger prints. They all point to the defendant as nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer who shouldn't be allowed in public or even prison."

Discreetly, without anyone noticing, the Crown Attorney and Heather whispered to each other.

"Great work—" whispered Heather evilly—"if things go as planned and little miss crazy loses this case, I promise to make it worthwhile for you."

"Trust me, Ms. Tsukasa," whispered Lucifer Bitters, "this case is in the bag."

"Mr. Chamberlain," said Judge Hawthorn, "I'm afraid to say that I would have to agree with Mr. Bitters. Unless you and your client have any proof to back up your statement, Ms. Mackintosh would have to plead guilty for murder and, ultimately, have to be executed."

"Please, your honor," said Mr. Chamberlain with a single bow from the head, "if you could just let us buy a little time, Mr. Stauffenberg will be here to present the evidence of my client's innocence."

"Objection!" yelled the CA.

"You would!" yelled back Izzy.

The judge slammed his gavel a couple times. "Sustained. Mr. Bitters?"

"Your honor, this is a waste of time!" firmly stated the Crown Attorney. "It's obvious the defendant's boyfriend is not coming today! And if you've watched _Total Drama_, you would see how Ms. Mackintosh is too unstable to walk the streets! They have no proof!"

At that moment, the doors burst open, and an exhausted Owen stumbled into the courtroom, his family not too far behind him. Izzy and Noah aided the party guy and helped him up.

"Your honor," panted Owen, catching his breath, "did I make it in time?"

"Well," stated Judge Hawthorn, "despite the fact that the case started a couple hours ago, you made it in time. Mr. Chamberlain told me that you have evidence claiming that Ms. Mackintosh is innocent, is that correct, Mr. Stauffenberg?"

"Yes, sir. I got it right here." The party guy then pulled out the tape recorder.

Heather took a good look at it before standing up straight and yelling, "Your honor, I object!"

The judge shot a glare at the queen bee. "Overruled, Ms. Tsukasa." He then turned back to Owen. "Proceed."

"Yes, sir." The party guy pressed the play button and all people present were silent as the recorded conversation between Owen and Heather filled the room.

A moment of silence passed by before Judge Hawthorn turned his gaze over to the jury. "Mr. Cameron Baxter, have you and the jury reached a verdict?"

The bubble boy stood up. "We have, your honor. (Although she's still crazy,) we the jury find Izzy Mackintosh not guilty."

Everyone in the audience stood up and clapped with joy. Grabbing Noah and Izzy, Owen hugged them tightly with the crazy girl hugging the party guy back and kissing him on the cheek. Mr. Chamberlain thrust a fist.

Where Heather seated herself, she and the Crown Attorney gawked in disbelief before the queen bee's cheeks turned red with fury and angrily ground her teeth.

"Now, Ms. Tsukasa," nervously stated Bitters as he backed away slowly from Heather, "let's not lose our temper."

"Not lose my temper? _Not lose my temper_!?" questioned Heather as her voice slowly rose. "_You were supposed to have her EXECUTED_!_ Now I'M getting the electric chair_!" Pausing for a second, a still-angry Heather cooled down. ". . . No, I don't think so."

"All right, sister," said Chef Hatchet as he came from behind the queen bee, "you're coming with me."

But as the cook/bailiff set his hands on Heather's shoulders, the queen bee elbowed him in the gut, sending him on his knees before pulling out a handgun from her formal attire, firing off one round into the horrified crooked Crown Attorney's forehead. The sound of the gun caused everyone to stop celebrating and to start scrambling/panicking for their lives. Heather spun around towards Judge Hawthorn and the jury, letting loose a few rounds; while all thirteen people ducked in time, only Anne Maria's hair got hit a couple times with visible holes due to the ridiculous amount of hairspray she used.

With a flicker of envy in her eye, the queen bee whipped around and faced Izzy, who still stood in place.

"What? Can't take your execution like a big girl or what?" shrugged the crazy girl half-jokingly, half-seriously.

"Who said I was getting executed?" asked Heather evilly before aiming.

"NO!" shouted Owen as he selflessly shoved his surprised girlfriend out of the way.

_BANG!_

The party guy collapsed as he clutched his stomach; his family screamed in terror from behind him.

Heather silently cursed to herself before she screamed in agony, dropped her gun, and fell on her knees before it was revealed that Chef Hatchet, now recovered from the gut-strike, pulled a taser on her.

Picking herself up, Izzy's eyes wandered over to Owen, and she gasped fearfully as she saw him laying there clutching his stomach while his shirt became soaked with his blood. The crazy girl, Noah, Mr. Chamberlain, and the party guy's family ran to his aid.

"Owen, please! Speak to me, Big O!" desperately pleaded Izzy as she held his head in both hands.

"Izzy," weakly rasped out Owen, "Iz, I'm sorry." The sad, panicked faces of his girlfriend and everyone else surrounding him started to blur, as well as the sound of Judge Hawthorn's gavel starting to trail off as he closed his eyes slowly.

* * *

Owen found himself in a very darkened room with fog eerily floating around him. Suddenly, fading out of the darkness was a teary-eyed Izzy strapped to an electric chair with a mask similar to the one from _The Silence of the Lambs_ on her face. The party guy tried to run to her rescue, but as the fog cleared around him, it was revealed that his hands and feet were chained. To his terror, a switch and a dark cloaked figure with glowing red eyes materialized into view. The dark figure had one hand on the switch before using its other hand to reveal its true face: Heather's face. The red-eyed Heather made a cutthroat hand gesture before pulling the switch . . .

As he woke up from his nightmare, Owen's eyes popped open as he found himself on a bed in a white room, a blood-filled IV in his arm, while the steady beeping sound of a heart monitor filled his ears. His eyes then roved around the hospital room: on the right side of him was a table with blood-stained operating tools and a bullet on a tray, and to his left was a desk laden with flowers and get-well cards written by his family, all his friends from _Total Drama_ (including about half of the fourth season cast, surprisingly enough), and even from Judge Hawthorn and Chef Hatchet (as surprising/odd as it seemed). The party guy then set his eyes on Izzy, sleeping in a chair with a newspaper folded up in another chair next to her with the front page reading "MAID, FORMER TD CONTESTANT PUT TO DEATH FOR TWO ACCOUNTS OF MURDER."

The crazy girl started to wake up before Owen groggily spoke, "Izzy?"

Whipping her head around, Izzy's eyes grew wide as she stared at the party guy. "Owen?"

Owen then smiled tiredly. "Yeah."

Tears of joy in her eyes, Izzy squealed happily before jumping on top of her obese boyfriend and showering his cheeks and forehead with kisses. "Oh, Owen! I thought you were a goner! I'm so happy you pulled through!"

"Izzy—" panicked Owen, looking down—"the IV."

"What?"

"The IV."

The crazy girl looked down at what the party guy was talking about and saw that her hand was cutting off the IV tube's blood-flow into her boyfriend before sheepishly letting off it. "Oops. Sorry, Big O."

"Eh, no problem. . . . I guess we won the case, huh?"

"Yeah, we won Big O. You saved me from the electric chair—and a bullet."

"I _did_ say I'd take a bullet for you, didn't I, Iz?"

"You certainly did, Owen." The crazy girl then frowned for a moment. "When I saw you laying there, I thought I would never see you again."

The party guy frowned as well. "I thought I wouldn't see you again either, Izzy."

After a moment, Izzy became her happy self again. "But you made it through all right Big O—the doctor told me and everyone else that you'll be up and walking soon."

"Well," grinned Owen, "that's good to hear."

A doctor then came into the party guy's room. "Sorry, Ms. Mackintosh, but I'm afraid Mr. Stauffenberg will need his rest now."

Before the crazy girl could protest, the party guy set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Iz—it's all good."

Izzy smiled half-heartedly before blowing Owen a kiss and walking out of the room.

* * *

One week later, Owen recovered from surgery and was back on his feet, but told not to do anything strenuous for a while, so that meant he couldn't go back to being his party-animal-self quite yet. Fortunately, however, it didn't mean he couldn't go slow-dancing with Izzy.

The party guy's fellow peers threw a party for him and his girlfriend, and their murder-case victory in court. DJ selected the Phil Collins song "A Groovy Kind of Love" for the slow dance.

"So, Izzy," said the party guy bashfully as he held out a hand, "may I have the dance with you?"

The crazy girl took her boyfriend's hand lovingly. "You don't have to ask me twice, Owen." And with that, the two were swaying to the melody of Phil Collins' well-renowned love song.

With the song halfway over, as they were dancing close together, Owen and Izzy stared deep into one another's eyes.

"You know something, Big O?" asked the crazy girl.

"What, Iz?" inquired the party guy.

"For some reason tonight reminds me of the last time we slow-danced. You know, before the RCMP hauled me away."

"Really? How so?"

"Oh, you know, the two of us close to one another, forgetting the past, you telling me that you want to set things right in our relationship."

Owen chuckled a bit. "Yeah, I remember that. Before the RCMP, it was quite a . . . sweet moment between us, wasn't it?"

"The sweetest. Thank you, Big O, for being there for me—all the way."

"That's what boyfriends are supposed to do for their girlfriends, isn't it, Iz?"

"You bet, hee-hee."

". . . Izzy?" asked the party guy.

"Owen?" queried back the crazy girl.

"I just remembered something else about that night."

"Oh? What was that?"

"We were about to share a kiss."

"You want one?" slyly asked Izzy.

"What else?" inquired Owen shrewdly.

The two teens stopped in their tracks, closed their eyes, and slowly leaned in to one another for a long passionate kiss; it was soft, but full of passion, nonetheless.

* * *

**And that's the end, everyone. Not too, too bad for a first-timer in writing about crime/law, eh? It took me a long time to write this story due to other projects I've been working on, along with a bad case of writer's block. But aside from all that, I pulled through and finished. Hope you enjoyed the story!**


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